


Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 100 per cent plot free, 5+1 Things, 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Arthur's Court, Donna knows things, Fluff and Humor, Green eyed monsters, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Jealousy, Leonardo Da Vinci - Freeform, M/M, Oscar Wilde - Freeform, Pining, but also not really, kind of, king arthur - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: Six thousand years is a long time. In the end, you’re bound to see the same old faces knocking about.Or, a couple of pining idiots keep running into the one human who a) knows what they are and b) figures them out in 0.3 seconds. Oh, and an unexplainable alien is there too. He doesn't figure much out, because he's too busy licking things.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Tenth Doctor & Donna Noble
Comments: 129
Kudos: 484





	1. Greece

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Allons-Y!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703767) by [CopperBeech](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech). 



> This was inspired by CopperBeech's great fic, Allons-Y, which made me so happy. Thanks for inspiring me get my Doctor Who on :)
> 
> Even though I started my fanfiction life with Doctor Who, I've never written it before.

“Oi! What did you go changing your clothes for? Trying to hide from me, are you?”

The voice was strong but the hand was stronger. So strong it pulled Crowley right off the bench and sent him crashing to the floor. And his attacker was _still_ talking. 

“You look a right prat. And what’s with the glasses?”

Crowley was, in fact, not completely in control of his faculties at that time. That is to say he was pissed as a fart, and it was for that reason and absolutely no other that the woman had got the better of him. 

And she was _still_ talking. 

“Are you drunk? Doctor, are you drunk?”

Lesser demons than Crowley might have chosen to use a small miracle to get rid of her. Or better demons, depending on your definition of what a demon should be. Certainly Duke Hastur would have swatted her away, but whether that made him a _better_ demon was a bit of a question, and not one Crowley felt at all qualified to answer. Especially sprawled on the floor, drunk off his arse, with an angry woman standing over him.

“Doctor? What’s got into you?”

“Lay off would you?” Crowley groaned, struggling to sit up. “You’ve got the wrong bloke. I’m not a doctor.”

“What are you talking -”

The woman knelt down suddenly, and Crowley noticed two things about her. Firstly, she was the only other person with red hair he had ever seen in this part of the world who didn’t also look like a northerner, and secondly, she was wearing the weirdest clothes he’d ever seen - and Crowley knew weird clothes. She looked like someone who had only ever heard about Greece in passing, like she’d met someone blind and they’d told her about, and then she had decided that she could make a decent stab at fitting in. 

“Bloody hell,” she said, sitting back on her heels as Crowley tried to edge away. “You’re really not him.”

“Nope. No doctors here.”

Bloody hell was a strange expression too. He’d have to remember that one.

“I’m sorry.” 

The woman got to her feet and held out a hand. Crowley took it. He was too drunk to even attempt standing up by himself without making a scene. Not that he minded making a scene, of course, if he needed to, but this was a strange person and he wasn’t completely sure that it wasn’t a set up he couldn’t spot yet. 

“I thought you were someone else,” she said. As though Crowley hadn’t worked that bit out for himself. “You look exactly like him. It’s weird. Like, you’re identical. Except the hair.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Crowley allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, and walked with as much dignity as he could muster - which frankly was little even on a good day - back to his bench. A boy wandered over and put down another cup next to Crowley’s, then filled them both with wine. Crowley wondered vaguely about that, until the woman sat down next to him. 

_Bloody hell_.

Yeah, he liked that. Good words. Bloody hell. 

“I’m Donna,” she said, picking up the cup and sniffing it. “What’s your name?”

“Crowley.”

“Weird name. For ancient Greece.”

“Weird to call it ancient Greece,” he countered, picking up his own. Might as well keep going with the wine at this stage. The evening couldn’t get much stranger.

“Oops,” Donna said, under her breath. “Just what my friend calls it. Dunno why, you’d have to ask him.”

“If you’re looking for a doctor, they usually hang about the Athena temple this time of night. Talking about humours and leeches and whatever else,” Crowley said. It was lacking his usual subtlety, he knew, but he really, really, _really_ wanted the woman to leave him alone. He’d been in the middle of a very good wallow when she interrupted him, and he wanted to get back to it. Good for the soul, a decent wallow. 

“Looking for one in particular,” she said, gulping down her wine. “That is _strong._ He will turn up soon, he always does. Remembers me waddling along behind and comes back from wherever he’s run off to. I’ll be better off waiting here.”

“Oh good.” 

Crowley decided to try a different tactic, and laid his head on the table, on his folded arms. His glasses pressed into his face a bit but he wasn’t going to take them off in public. He yawned too. For effect.

“Tough day?”

_Bloody hell._  
“Yep.”

“Want to talk about it? I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“Nope.”

“Suit yourself.”

Despite it all, Crowley couldn’t help but grin into his arm when, a few moments after his spectacular sleep performance began, he sensed Donna take his cup and drink what was left in there too. 

“I saw that.”

“You’re asleep. And you’re drunk. I’m doing you a favour.”

Crowley couldn’t quite recall ever having met a person like her. The way she spoke. It was like she didn’t belong there. And those strange clothes, and that hair. But he couldn’t sense anything demonic or ethereal about her either. 

Maybe she was just weird. Well, he knew all about weird. 

“DONNA!”

They both jumped as the disembodied voice rang out through the market, and Donna dropped the cup on the table. 

“Guessing that’s him,” Crowley said, watching her scramble to her feet. 

“DONNA!”

“Bloody hell, like a foghorn,” she mumbled. “Cos that’s really fitting in, isn’t it. Fit in, Donna, don’t wander off. Hypocrite.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” Donna said. “Sorry about the mix up. And I’ll tell you what, mate. Whoever they are, they’re aren’t worth it.”

And she was off, weaving through the crowd towards the sound of the yelling, leaving Crowley gaping after her. The boy came back and righted the cups, went to top up Crowley’s. 

“No-” Crowley flipped him a coin and staggered to his feet. “No more. It’s been a strange enough evening as it is.”


	2. Arthur's Court

Once a year, Arthur’s court overflowed with visitors, men and women from all over the kingdom come to join the new year celebration. The king was well known for his generous spirit, and his people loved him for it. Truthfully, Aziraphale had really had very little to do with the peace that had been spreading across this funny, rainy little island. His role had only really been a supervising one. 

But he was glad to be there, nonetheless. Settling at the court for a few years had been a welcome break from being posted all over the continent, seemingly at Gabriel’s whim. 

People had been pouring into the castle all day, and Aziraphale had offered to guard the gate for a while. He did have some experience, after all, and it was rather nice to watch the revellers and absorb some of their excitement and anticipation. He was still there as night fell, watching over the stragglers, when something caught his eye.

A flash of red hair, in the small crowd. It wasn’t as unusual a thing to see these days, in Europe at least, but a small part of him would always think of Crowley when he saw it. Aziraphale closed his eyes and reached out into the ether, but wherever Crowley was, he was very far away. Trying not to feel disappointed, Aziraphale left Gareth to herd the last few people inside, and went down to the hall. 

A great feast had been laid out on the long tables, and Aziraphale stepped carefully around the children who were playing on the floor, and the babies laid down to sleep at their parent’s feet. There was a jolly atmosphere in the room, and he could not help but smile helplessly. 

“Sir Aziraphale, are we ready to begin the feast?” Arthur asked, his own face aglow.

“As soon as young Gareth takes his place, my lord.”

“Very good.”

Idly, Aziraphale scanned the room for that flash of red hair he’d seen at the gate. There were a few people that caught his eye. A toddler, standing on a table, with a head of auburn curls. A man too large to have been the one hidden by the crowd. Gareth himself, as he made his way into the hall and pulled the door closed. It hadn’t been any of them. 

Aziraphale thought that perhaps he had imagined it - wanted it too much - when he saw her. A woman, perched at the very end of the furthest table. Her hair was long and flowing, just like Crowley’s could so often be. And then he saw the man she was speaking with, and he almost fell from his chair. 

_Crowley?_

“Sir Aziraphale, are you well?” Guinevere asked, as he shot to his feet to get a better look. There was anticipation in her voice - so many off things tended to happen at these feasts that she probably hoped the entertainment had begun early. 

“No, my lady - I - no, all is well. I thought I saw - oh, it doesn’t matter.”

He sank back to his seat, eyes fixed on the man. It was hard to tell from this distance, and of course he had just been berating himself for wishing Crowley into existence, but the man really did look like him. Without the hair, of course, but in every other respect. 

“Come, we know our Sir Aziraphale enjoys a prompt dinner time,” Arthur said, not unkindly. “Let’s begin.”

Aziraphale didn’t remember much of the meal, once it was over. He’d been too focused on keeping the man in his sights, and reaching out to check that Crowley really was as far away as he seemed. The turn of the stranger’s head, the quirk of his lips. It was really very remarkable. 

It could also be a trap.

Yes, it very well could be. A test. Hell could have sent an inc - someone in Crowley’s form. Or Heaven. Aziraphale wouldn’t put such a trick past Michael. She was clever like that. But why - why would they suspect that he and Crowley - conversed sometimes? It didn’t make sense. 

As soon as the feast ended and the music began, Aziraphale saw the man and his companion slip out of the door. He staggered to his feet - whatever he hadn’t eaten, he’d definitely made up for it with beer - and followed after them. 

“It’s brilliant.” He heard the voices out in the dark corridor, and skidded to a halt. The woman was talking. 

“King Arthur! Right there. And all his knights too.”

“Told you he was real,” the man said, and Aziraphale relaxed a little. He didn’t really sound like Crowley. “We used to be mates back in the day but he wouldn’t know me now. Not this face.”

“I owe you a tenner, then. Can’t believe it.”

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale said, putting on his blandest smile, and rounding the corner. “CAn I help you, my friends?”

They whirled away from the tapestry that they had been investigating, guilty looks on their faces, and if Aziraphale had needed to breathe, he would have had great difficulty. 

Crowley. Heavens, he looked like Crowley. 

“Ah, um - yes,” the man grinned. “Um, envoy from the - King of Scotland. Here on a good will visit.”  
As he spoke, he brandished a piece of paper in a leather wallet, which told Aziraphale exactly nothing, because it was blank. 

“I’m afraid there is nothing written there,” he said, his eyes flitting back to the man’s face. It was extraordinary. At the last minute, he remembered to reach out into the ether and see if they were Heaven or Hell sent. The woman, who looked amused, was human. But the man - there was nothing. A space where Aziraphale had never seen a space before. He didn’t exist. At least, he didn’t exist according to the divine power that had made all living things. 

He realised then that the man was talking. 

“Sorry about that, must have left my papers in my other trousers. King of Scotland though, I promise. See this red-haired lady, born of that barbaric land?”

“Oi,” the woman said, punching Not-Crowley on the arm. “Who you calling barbaric?”

The man didn’t exist. But he was there, standing in front of Aziraphale and arguing with the woman. It had to be a test, but what Aziraphale was supposed to do, he wasn’t certain. Nothing in basic training had ever covered people who did not exist. 

Best to proceed with caution.

“You are very welcome, both of you. I am Sir Aziraphale of the table round.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sir Aziraphale,” Not-Crowley said with a toothy grin. That was better, in a way, Aziraphale had never seen Crowley with a smile that easy. 

“Don’t remember an Aziraphale,” the man continued under his breath. “But you know, old stories, lost in translation.”

“I’m Donna,” the woman said. “Donna Noble. And this is - Sir Doctor.”

“A pleasure, my noble lady. Sir Doctor.”

Then there was silence, till Sir Doctor clapped his hands.

“Anyway, we were off actually. Long journey back to - er - Scotland. Like to leave early, beat the traffic.”

The man didn’t make sense, and Aziraphale was struck suddenly that perhaps it would just be best if he was out of the castle. All manner of strange people turned up on feast days - it was getting to be a bit of a joke actually - and there was no reason to assume this was anything to do with him, just because the man happened to look like Crowley. Why, it could even be a joke from Crowley himself. It smacked of his kind of mischief. 

Aziraphale felt the tension leave his shoulders. Whatever this was, it was nothing to do with him. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said, herding them towards the door. “I’ve been to Scotland myself, I know the road is hard. Thank you so much for dropping by.”

“Uh, yeah. No problem,” Sir Doctor said, peering out into the rain, then removing his strange looking cloak and draping it over Lady Noble. “Send Arthur my best. Tell him Sir John says hello.”

Aziraphale passed on the message dutifully, but the king must have been thinking of another Sir John, as he began to reminisce about a man who had helped him pull the sword when he was but a child. It could not have been the same man, unless he had somehow not aged in forty years.


	3. Hamedan

“Come on, angel. You’ll like him, I promise.”

If it was anyone else, Crowley would have grabbed their hand and dragged them along, but this was Aziraphale, and he didn’t touch Aziraphale. It was easier that way. Much easier.

Luckily, Aziraphale didn’t require too much persuading. It had been a surprise to find the angel prowling around the city, but now he was here - well, Crowley knew he’d just love Avicenna. He’d always been delighted with clever humans, and Avicenna was the cleverest Crowley had ever met. 

“Alright, alright,” Aziraphale said, putting down the glass of wine that Crowley had pushed into his hands. The game always went like this.

“His rooms aren’t far,” Crowley said, beginning to weave through the evening crowds, knowing that Aziraphale would follow. “He’ll still be there, I’m sure. Not too late for him.”

Aziraphale made a noise in his throat but didn’t say anything, or if he did then Crowley didn’t hear him. In fact, Crowley didn’t hear anything, because as he turned down the first side street, he ran nose first into a great hulking box. A blue box, abandoned in the alley. A blue box that had definitely not been there before. Crowley knew his streets. 

“What is heavens is a Police Public Call Box?” Aziraphale asked, stopping just short of running into Crowley. So close he could feel the angel’s heat coming off him. 

“That’s English, isn’t it?” Aziraphale continued, his eyes bright. 

“Not much like the English I’ve ever seen,” Crowley muttered, rubbing his nose. Lucky he didn’t bruise or else he’d be really pissed off. The street, usually a busy shortcut, was empty around them. Crowley glanced about, uneasy, as Aziraphale pressed a hand to the box.

“Oh!”

The angel stumbled backwards, tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground. 

“Hey, you okay?” Crowley asked, hovering over him. 

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and he was staring at his hand, flexing his fingers. 

“Aziraphale! Talk to me!”

Crowley reached down and hauled him to his feet. Shoved his own hands into his shirt before Aziraphale could see them flexing. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, eying the blue box. “It’s - I don’t know what to say. Touch it. The box.”

“What, and end up on my arse?”

“Please, Crowley.”

Bloody _please_. Like that had never not worked. Hesitantly, Crowley put out a hand and touched the box. 

He saw himself. 

_Running through a library._

_Out in the stars._

_On a beach, windswept and grey._

_A blonde woman, crying._

_A planet burning._

_A red haired woman, laughing._

“Crowley!”

Crowley woke up on the ground, as he’d feared. Flat on his arse.

“What the hell-”

“Did you see him?” Aziraphale knelt down beside him, heaved Crowley up with one hand to lean him against the wall, as if he weighed nothing at all. Which did not do funny things to Crowley at all, no sir. Not at all. 

“I saw me? And - hold on!”

The woman. The red haired woman. 

“That woman. I - knew her! I met her.”

“I met them too,” Aziraphale said. “But it was back in Arthur’s day.”

Crowley’s head was fuzzy. Had he hit it when he fell? The blue box seemed to be looming over them.

“But - who - what do mean, _them_?

“The man, Crowley. He wasn’t you. Didn’t you see his hair? He wasn’t you.”

“Donna. Her name was -”

“Donna Noble.”

“She said - her friend. She thought I was him.”

“I thought he was you. I followed him and he doesn’t _exist_. The ether thinks he doesn’t exist.”

Aziraphale was excited, hopping back to his feet. He flitted around the box as Crowley dragged himself up. Something was nagging at him. Like a naggy, nagging thing. Satan, he’d hit his head hard. 

“Hold on, angel. I met her back in Athens. Then _you_ met her in Cornwall. And what - this box thingy is here now? It’s 1020. It’s been centuries.”

“I know, my dear. But I’d know him anywhere. He was the same as you. Exactly the same.”

Aziraphale’s eyes swept over Crowley, as though he had never seen him before. Crowley paused just long enough to blush when a shout rang down the alley. 

“Bloody hell!”

He knew that voice. 

So that was how it came to be that a demon, an angel, an impossible human and non-existent whatever-he-was came to be standing in an alley staring at each other. 

It was not at all to Crowley’s surprise that the human found her voice first.

“It’s you!” she said, pointing at Crowley. “I met you in - but that was - Doctor, look! I told you I’d seen someone like you!”

Crowley could feel the snake coiling in his stomach, writhing and ready to strike. It was like a mirror, the man, and he shouldn’t exist. 

Then there was a hand on his arm, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Forcing his eyes down - very unsnakey, to break eye contact - he found the hand belonged to Aziraphale. The angel was touching him. 

“It’s alright, Crowley,” he muttered. “Stand down, there’s a good chap.”

Aziraphale had been a warrior once. In command. Demons didn’t take orders from angels. Except when it was that angel telling that demon in that voice. It allowed no arguments. 

His hand still heavy on Crowley’s arm, Aziraphale said, “We had all better have a little chat, don’t you think?”

*

“Brilliant,” the Doctor said, holding a weird buzzing thing to Aziraphale’s head. The snake in Crowley’s stomach reared its head again, and he swallowed hard. 

“Low level telepathic field.” The man was rabbiting on. “The TARDIS keeps locking onto you, thinks you’re a beacon or something.”

Aziraphale was, of course, completely delighted with the whole thing. Crowley refused to look at how he was gazing at the Doctor, like he didn’t believe he existed. Then again, Crowley got that bit. It all sounded a bit wild to him, and he was a demon. Creatures from another world? Humans from the future? He still didn’t think much of that. 

“So you’re like - a real angel?” Donna asked, staring at Aziraphale. “An _angel_? Does that mean God was real all along then?”

“I rather think so,” Aziraphale said. “We know Her, don’t we Crowley?”

“Best as anyone can,” Crowley muttered darkly, as the Doctor turned half an inch and eyed Crowley, weird buzzing thing in hand. 

“Can I?” he asked, brandishing the thing. 

“If you must.”

It was very disconcerting, to be face to face with an exact copy of himself. The Doctor was missing the snake eyes, obviously, and the red hair, but in all other respects, it was uncanny. Part of Crowley still wondered if it was a joke. Or worse - a trick. Or even worse - a trap. Irritated suddenly, Crowley batted away the buzzing thing. The man was _staring_. 

“Sorry,” the Doctor said. “I always wondered what I’d look like ginger. Got distracted.”

“You’re telling me,” Donna said, her voice rising. “That the Bible is true. All that really happened?”

“We were there,” Aziraphale replied. “I promise it did.”

“What I want to know,” Crowley interrupted. “Is how you ended up with my face. I’m older than you, sunshine. I’m the original here.”

He circled the Doctor, eying him, until he was standing between him and Aziraphale. 

“I told you, low level telepathic field,” the Doctor shrugged. “TARDIS locked on to you, notices you exist across time. I’m linked to the TARDIS too. Eventually I was bound to run into someone that she’d taken a liking to, nudged me towards a certain face. It’s a compliment. She likes you.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Crowley growled. “But I don’t like it.”

The Doctor seemed annoyingly unperturbed by Crowley’s glower. He’d worked hard on that glower too, perfected it over four thousand years or so. Got him almost anything he wanted from down below, that glower. And now here he was watching Aziraphale be charmed by a bloke who had stolen his face, and the glower was useless. 

“Don’t mind him,” Donna said, touching his elbow. “He talks a load of bollocks most of the time, you don’t need to understand it all.”

Crowley briefly considered whether he should just snake out and slither away from the whole nonsense affair, but if it was a trap, he didn’t want to leave Aziraphale with them. Although this was so weird now - so weird - that he doubted Hell would have the imagination for it. And Heaven definitely wouldn’t. Which meant it was just a miserable turn of events.

“You know, now I know that you’re an angel and a demon, I can see it. I’m like, yeah - they make sense,” Donna said. 

“I’m glad someone gets it.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale clapped his arms together. “The Doctor is going to show his us ship. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” Crowley repeated, not looking at Donna, who he could feel watching him. “Go on then, angel. I’ll follow you in.”

Aziraphale didn’t need telling twice, and the door to the blue box creaked behind him. Crowley peeled himself off the wall, sighing. 

“I get it now,” Donna nodded, blocking his way with her arm. “You like him.”

“Of course I like him. He’s a friend.”

“No, no, no. Like, like. You fancy him!”

Crowley wasn’t familiar with the word ‘fancy’ used like that, but he didn’t need to be a genius to get it from the way Donna wiggled her eyebrows. Hell, if they were all like her in the future then Crowley wasn’t going. Not quietly anyway. 

“Shut it,” he hissed, but she didn’t seem bothered by the glower either. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Forbidden. Romeo and Juliet. Star crossed. I know all right, mate. You don’t have to be jealous of the Doctor, you know. He’s got his own blonde that he’s hung up on. Your boy won’t be of any interest, trust me.”

Crowley had never, in all his long, long life, ever had a conversation where he could be completely honest. It was a terrifying thought. But he could be honest right then. What did it matter?

“He’s not my boy.”

“Crowley! Do come and see this. You’ll be so impressed, my dear!”

Donna quirked her lips as Crowley felt his face flush. 

“Shut up. It doesn’t count. He calls everyone that.”

Another quirk of the lips.

“Shut up!”


	4. Milan

Crowley had always liked the clever humans. He liked to pretend that it was because they tended to Ask Questions, and Asking Questions was one short hop away from Having Ideas, and Having Ideas was just a little baby step away from Thinking For Themselves. Aziraphale knew better of course. 

Crowley just _liked_ humans. And if they were clever, all the better. In his less guarded moments, Aziraphale even wondered if the demon was lonely, rather like he was sometimes lonely too. 

Quite how that had led to this was another thing entirely. _This_ being sitting side by side with Crowley in an art studio in Milan. Aziraphale was no stranger to posing for artists, at least in the olden days when the medium was stone and not paint. He’d been the inspiration for many a Roman sculpture, back in the day. But sitting next to Crowley whilst Leonardo Da Vinci flitted around them, arranging backgrounds and chatting nineteen to the dozen, was quite the experience.

“I don’t get many opportunities to paint portraits lately,” the man said. “I am grateful to you both for sitting. The middle of the night is not usual I know but they keep me so busy in the day.”

“It’s no bother,” Crowley said, peering over the top of his glasses and grinning when Da Vinci met his eye. “We’re night owls too, aren’t we Ezra?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said, his stomach tight. Crowley so rarely showed his eyes to anyone, even him. And here he was, brazen, flashing them at the artist. And smiling too. 

“I am in your debt. Let me just arrange the candles. The light, you know.”

Crowley yawned and leaned back in his chair. He was perfectly at ease here, and Aziraphale wondered how many times he had visited the studio before. Crowley was watching Da Vinci with a fond look on his face as the man fussed around, placing his candlesticks and standing back to look, moving back to shift them just so. A fond look. A look that Aziraphale was almost sure he had caught directed at him before, if he looked at Crowley just out of the corner of his eye. Not that the demon was _allowed_ to be fond of him, and Aziraphale did not desire such a thing. But still...he knew that look. 

It had been a chance meeting that had brought Aziraphale to Milan. He’d been posted to a little monastery in the mountains north of the city, to spend some time there influencing the abbott towards his sainthood. He’d always enjoyed time that he spent with monks - there was something very calming about it. As it happened, the abbott needed very little encouragement; he was as good a man as Aziraphale had ever worked with. So when Aziraphale heard the abbott needed someone to pay a visit to the bishop in Milan, he’d jumped at the chance. He hadn’t been to Milan for ages. 

And if he had happened to be visiting a tavern and had happened to meet Crowley there, well that was just good luck. 

What was less good luck was finding himself persuaded to drop in on Crowley’s new pet, this Da Vinci, and agreeing to sit for a portrait. 

“Your hair, it is very lovely, Ezra,” Da Vinci said, placing a candle carefully behind Aziraphale. “We do not see many people here with hair your colour. Just like our Crowley. Before him, I never met a man with a head of fire. And now you are here with your sunshine.”

Our Crowley, indeed. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, reaching up a self-conscious hand to run his fingers over his close cropped hair. It was pure vanity that he had never let his hair be shaved completely when he was in the monasteries. 

“Suits you, angel,” Crowley murmured, his eyes following Aziraphale’s hand. “Like the curls better though.”

Here in the semi-darkness, the middle of the night, Crowley could say such things. And Aziraphale could listen. 

“Okay, okay,” Da Vinci said, clapping his hands. “Finally, I am ready for you.”

Aziraphale did not sigh when Crowley’s eyes snapped back to the artist, did not sigh when he grinned, flashing his sharp teeth so that Da Vinci chuckled. 

And then there was a scream. 

Outside, in the street. 

“What in heavens?” Aziraphale was the first up on his feet and at the window. In the street below, the woman was still screaming and a dark shadow stalked towards her. Before Aziraphale could raise his hand, Crowley was at his side, and he clicked his fingers towards the shadow. It groaned - could shadows groan? - and stumbled away, rounding the corner. 

“Oh my dear-” Aziraphale said, then stopped, because round the other corner a man and a woman came running. 

“Oh bloody hell,” Crowley hissed, banging his forehead against the wall. 

“Doctor! Donna!” Aziraphale called, waving frantically. The Doctor was talking to the woman, hands held out to show he was no threat, but Donna looked around at the sound of his voice, and laughed.

“Aziraphale! No way! Hello!”

“Come on, Crowley. Let’s go and say hello.”

Crowley mumbled under his breath but seemed to go limp as Aziraphale grabbed his elbow, and pushed him out of the room. Da Vinci followed along.

“Doctor, look who it is,” Donna grinned.

“Oh, hello.”

The Doctor watched the woman along the street until she scurried into a door further along, then bounded over to them. 

“Good old TARDIS, she just can’t leave you two alone, huh?” he said, wringing Aziraphale’s hand, then nodding at Crowley. “What brings you to Milan?”

“Just sitting for a portrait,” Crowley said. “This is Leonardo Da Vinci. I suppose you’ve heard of him.”

“Hello,” Da Vinci said, giving a little wave. He looked vaguely bemused by the whole thing, but he also seemed to be taking it in his stride that Crowley suddenly had an exact copy standing opposite him. Then again...Aziraphale had seen the way the artist looked at Crowley. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that another one of him would be an intriguing thought for the man. 

“Leonardo Da Vinci!” Donna said. “No way. Mona Lisa, queued for four hours in Paris to see that. Well, Grandad needed a wee after that long so we lost our place, but I got a postcard.”

“You know my work, fine lady?” Da Vinci asked, lifting her hand and kissing it carefully. Crowley watched the whole thing - fondly? He seemed to like Donna much more than he liked the Doctor. 

“What are _you_ doing here, Doctor?” Aziraphale asked. “What was that shadow?”

“Oh you saw it, did you?”

“Of course. Crowley scared it away.”

“Good thing too, it probably would have sucked her dry if he didn’t.”

The Doctor donned a pair of glasses and pressed himself to the wall where the woman had been standing, muttering to himself and sniffing. And licking. Feeling as though he wasn’t needed at that moment, Aziraphale turned back to the conversation. 

“You did not tell me you had a brother, Crowley,” Da Vinci said. “And is this red headed beauty your kin also?”

“No brother,” Crowley said, less sullen than he had been. “Just a weird coincidence. And Donna here - just an acquaintance. We keep running into each other.”

Da Vinci, of course, was delighted by the whole thing. 

“How exciting this evening is becoming,” he said. 

“Lead!” the Doctor yelled, making them all jump. “That’s what I can taste. Donna! Let’s go!”

He ran off down the street and veered around the corner. They all looked at one another, then Donna shrugged and jogged off. Aziraphale followed her. 

“Is there always so much running?” he asked, catching up to her side. 

“Oh yeah,” she said. “I’ve never been fitter. Better than any gym, I can tell you.”

Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder and saw that Crowley was following them, albeit much slower. And Da Vinci, of course, was at his side. They laughed about something, and Aziraphale snapped his head round. 

“What’s the deal with those two then?” Donna asked. “Oi, spaceman! Slow down!” 

“What do you mean, what’s the deal?”

“Crowley and old Leo back there. Very matey, aren’t they?”

“Crowley likes clever humans,” Aziraphale said tightly, gritting his teeth. Goodness, he hadn’t run like this since basic training. “Da Vinci is the cleverest of them all, so they say.”

Ahead of them, the Doctor had thrown himself down an alley, strange buzzy machine in hand. Donna paused to catch her breath, and very kindly didn’t point that being an angel, Aziraphale really shouldn’t have had to do the same thing. 

“Looks like you aren’t too pleased about it,” she said under her breath. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Jealous are you? I can always tell.”

Aziraphale’s treacherous human body had never been very good at concealing the truth. And, on cue, it didn’t help him now. He blushed, his fingers worrying at his collar. 

“I’m not jealous. Crowley and I are - colleagues.”

“Yeah, alright, and I’m an octopus. _Angel. _”__

__“Who’s an octopus?” the Doctor asked, appearing from the alley and setting off again. “We’re close, I can smell him. Can you smell him?”_ _

__“You know I can’t,” Donna said, rolling her eyes, but Aziraphale did think he could smell something odd in the air, a lingering scent.  
“Can you feel it, angel?” _ _

__Crowley appeared at his side, nose in the air. “Whatever we’re following, it isn’t good.”_ _

__“No - is it one of yours?”_ _

__“Nope. Never smelt anything like it.”_ _

__“I have no idea what any of you are talking about,” Da Vinci said, taking a pocket book from his painting apron. “I’m just going to make some notes.”_ _

__“I think it would be a good idea if we made ourselves scarce, my dear,” Aziraphale said under his breath, eying Crowley and avoiding looking at Donna, who was leering at him. “Just in case. Wouldn’t you say?”_ _

__“Very sensible,” Crowley muttered. “Donna, nice to see you. Run into you again, I’m sure. Leo, we’re off. We’ll pop by for that portrait some other time, yeah?”_ _

__“Of course, of course. I’ll just be going along with the lovely Donna, to see what is happening here. If you don’t mind.”_ _

__“I don’t mind,” Crowley said softly, his lips quirking. “You do you. C’mon, angel.”_ _

__Aziraphale had never really thought about the way that Crowley called him angel. He _was_ an angel. But the way Donna was smiling at him...he wondered if there was something else he didn’t quite understand._ _


	5. Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, this one is accidentally sad. 
> 
> I promise the last one won't be, though <3

Paris had the absolute best places to get pissed. At least it was these days. Crowley was propping up the bar in once such excellent establishment. He’d only been awake and back on his feet for less than a day, and he was already well on his way to a pleasant alcohol coma. 

Or it would have been pleasant, except there was a hand snaking around his elbow and a foot nudging his own where it rested on the wooden stool. He glanced up, eyes blurry, and he swore.  
“Well, hello to you too,” Donna Noble said, sliding onto the seat next to him. “It’s seven o’clock in the morning.”

“Why the hell does that matter?” Crowley asked, reaching desperately for the bottle in front of him. Time to bypass the glass and just neck it down in one. 

“Just thought you should know,” Donna said. “Seeing as you’re almost at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon.”

“Second bottle of bourbon,” he replied, proud, until he realised how sad that sounded. “What are you doing here?”

“Vampire hunting,” she shrugged, nodding over to where the Doctor was deep in conversation with a man he’d seemingly dragged in off the street. “Buying breakfast for old Pierre there and trying to piece together the story.”

“Vampires aren’t real,” Crowley muttered. 

“But demons are,” she said lightly. “And angels.”

The word hung in the air, till Crowley swore under his breath and took another sip. He wasn’t going to look at her. If he didn’t look at her, maybe she would bugger off. 

“Nice to see you, by the way.” Donna reached for the coffee that had appeared in front of her, delivered by a blushing young man who ducked his head when she smiled at him. “Where’s your mate?”

Where was he indeed. The last time Crowley had woken up from a brief nap - that one just a quick month - he’d reached out, like he always did, and found Aziraphale in Paris. In the middle of a bloody revolution, dressed like a bloody fop. They’d had crepes that day, in a place not too far from here. It was gone now, like all things tended to disappear from Crowley’s life, in the end. So when he’d woken up from his decent eighty year sleep, he hadn’t been that surprised to find Aziraphale was in Paris again. 

But there was no revolution to save him from this time, so he wondered why he could sense a deep sorrow coming from the angel. Probably Aziraphale had found out the crepe place was no longer in business.

So, like an idiot, Crowley had come running. Like he always did. 

“He’s not my mate.”

“Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” Donna said. “Oi, Doctor! Look who it is.”

The Doctor glanced up, slid a plate to the man across the table, and bounced over to the bar. He was holding a coffee cup too, although Satan knew why he needed coffee. He was like a giant sheepdog as it was. 

“Hello,” he said. “Where’s your mate?”

“We aren’t attached at the hip,” Crowley snapped, cradling his aching head in his hands. If they were, he’d have known what Aziraphale had been up to all this time. Not that he could blame him, of course.

“Maybe not,” the Doctor said. “We’ve got some vampires to hunt. Off to a graveyard, on old Pierre’s word. Come on, Donna.”

Crowley sensed her getting to her feet, and didn’t even flinch when she touched him. 

“You should come,” she said, and Satan, her voice was _gentle_. “Get some fresh air. It’s fun, most of the time.”

“No.”

“Take your mind off it. Whatever it is.”

Crowley didn’t need his demonic powers to realise they were having a silent conversation over his head, but he let them get on with it anyway. The Doctor probably didn’t want him along. And suddenly, somehow, that made the idea of going much more desirable. 

“Yeah, alright,” Crowley said, stumbling to his feet. He briefly considered sobering up, then decided against it. Whatever they ended up doing would be much more fun if he was still drunk. Vampires. No such thing as vampires. 

The Doctor bounced along the street ahead of them, weird buzzy screwdriver in hand, stopping every now and then to sniff the air. Donna walked at Crowley’s meandering pace, and pulled him out the gutter once or twice when he lost his way. 

“He’s in his element with stuff like this,” she said conversationally, watching the Doctor stick out his tongue and lick the window of a shop. “Pretty low key for us. Nice to have the break.”

“I think he’s a bit odd,” Crowley said. 

“Yeah, you’re not wrong. But then you’re a demon from Hell, so you can hardly talk.”

“I don’t lick windows.”

“You’ve got him there, yeah.”

They followed the Doctor through just waking up streets, until they reached the gates of one of the cemeteries. He licked the gate. Of course. 

“Right then,” he said, walking back to meet them. “Definitely something going on in here. Morphic residue all over these streets and the gate is caked with it.”

They launched into an argument about which way to turn when they got inside, but Crowley wasn’t hearing much of it. Cemeteries had always been loud places for him. There was the buzz from walking too near to sanctified ground - no idiot had ever thought to make the paths that wound through graves demon-proof, but the blessed grass on each side made Crowley’s ears ring. Then there was the general mood of the whole place too. Demons were tuned into the rhythm of despair and sadness. Came with the territory of being a demon, of course. 

He expected those things.

But there was something else here too. 

_Aziraphale._

He could sense the angel, very close by. And there was that same crashing wave of grief he’d felt the night before, when he rocked up to find Aziraphale huddled in a small house with a bunch of humans, in mourning. The angel’s grief. Even back in the old days, through the wars and the famines and the plagues, Crowley had never quite sensed anything like it from Aziraphale. Whoever he was mourning, it was someone important. Someone who wasn’t Crowley.

“I’m going this way,” he said, then veered down a side path without stopping to wait for his companions to react. So weak, always running after the angel, even when he didn’t want him. 

“Hold on!”

Donna jogged up beside him, snagged his sleeve between her fingers. 

“Get off me.”

“Cool it, Romeo. We’re coming with you. Gotta go this way anyway, the Doctor says.”

Crowley didn’t want them there. He didn’t want them to see Aziraphale in whatever state he was in, and he didn’t want them to see him in whatever state he got in when he saw what state Aziraphale was in. He raised his hand to snap his fingers, but Donna grabbed it. 

“Oh no, you’re not disappearing on me. What’s wrong?”

The Doctor was trailing along behind them, keeping his distance, which was the only reason Crowley said, “Aziraphale is here. And there’s something wrong. He’s - there’s something wrong. He’s - upset.”

“Well, we are in a graveyard,” Donna said. “Only so many reasons someone would be upset in one of these, don’t you think?”

Crowley growled in reply as they careened along the downward slope of the path, then jumped at the scuffle of gravel behind them. But it was only the Doctor, hurrying off down the fork they hadn’t taken. 

“He’s going that way.”

“Yeah, he does that, remember? He’ll turn up when he’s licked a few gravestones or whatever, rubbed his face all over the grass. These vampires won’t be going anywhere, they never do when they’re settled apparently.”

“No such thing as vampires,” Crowley said, distracted, as he rounded a corner and spotted a small funeral party up ahead. Very small, less than a dozen mourners including the priest or whatever he was. Crowley had always been vague on the details when it came to the clergy. 

“Well, there he is,” Donna said, shading her eyes and peering at the group. “No mistaking that hair, is there? Funny to see him in black though.”

It wasn’t funny at all. Crowley’s stomach felt as though it was dropping out as he shuffled closer, trying to keep under cover of the trees. If Aziraphale were just to reach out, he’d see Crowley right away. But that seemed like the last thing on the angel’s mind right now. Aziraphale had his arms wrapped tightly around himself as he stood a little apart from the group, shoulders hunched. Like he was holding himself together. 

“Oh, look at him,” Donna said softly. “He’s gutted.”

It was too much to bear. Aziraphale’s sadness was radiating out through the ether, and it drove Crowley to his knees. He and Donna watched in silence as the service concluded, and then gravediggers moved in to lower the coffin. As they did, Aziraphale buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders heaved. 

“Shit,” Crowley said, pressing his hands to his ears. He screwed his eyes shut behind his glasses. He should never have come, never have followed the angel here. Whoever was in that box - Aziraphale must have loved them. _Love them._ And whoever it was, it wasn’t Crowley. 

“Come on,” Donna said, taking a handful of his jacket and pulling him to his feet. “You don’t need to see this, demon boy.”

“I’m an idiot,” Crowley mumbled, leaning on Donna’s shoulder as they walked away. “A big, stupid idiot. Should have known to stay away when he’s feeling like that.”

“Yeah,” she said, and there was an odd note in her voice. Something that Crowley couldn’t quite detect. “Maybe. But you never know. He might have needed you. You had to come and check.”

“Didn’t have to.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah,” Crowley sighed. “I did. Like a big, stupid idiot.”

“Maybe. Now come on. My big stupid idiot is running around like a dog off the lead. Trust me - he’ll take your mind off it.”


	6. Sussex

“Hold on!” the Doctor yelled, whirling around the control panel.

“I am!” Donna yelled back, rolling her eyes, as she clung to the railings. Who gave you permission to fly this thing?”

“Not now!” 

The Doctor stumbled and landed flat on his back, but not before he’d grabbed a handle and pulled it down along with him. The TARDIS gave a great shake, then went quiet. Donna stamped over and looked down at him. He grinned, wiggling his fingers.

“Hello!”

“I’ll give you hello,” she grumbled, nudging him with her foot. “I’ll ask you again. Who in their martian mind thought you were good enough to drive this bloody box?”

“Well, technically no one, I suppose. But I did have at least three lessons. Well, two lessons. Well, one lesson, but instructor said I had great potential.”

He leapt to his feet and pulled the screen towards him.

“Ah, not quite home.”

“What? It’s Grandad’s birthday!”

“I know, I know. Still London. Well, not quite. South of England. And it’s...2056.”  
“What happened in 2056?”

“Dunno. But the TARDIS was pretty insistent we come here. Have a quick look and back to yours in time for cake?”

“Fine, but if we get stuck here for ages sorting stuff out I’m not going to be happy.”

“I don’t know if you realise, but this is a time machine. We can go to Wilf’s birthday fifty times, if you want.”

“Don’t sass me, spaceman. I’ve had enough of you for one day.”

He just laughed. The _bastard._

“Come on then,” she said. “Me first.”

It was very England-y, that was for sure. The TARDIS had landed on a small cliff, overlooking the sea. It was a sunny day, quiet, and the air was fresh. The only sign they might be in the future at all was the giant windmills out in the sea, turning gently in the breeze.

“Oh that’s nice,” Donna said. “We do get the green energy in the end, then.”

“It’s a bit touch and go for a while,” the Doctor replied, reaching into his pocket for his sunglasses. “Do you know where we are?”

“Not sure. Sussex, maybe. I went to Brighton once, it reminds me a bit of that.”

“Oh Brighton! I love Brighton. You should see it in 2200. Whew, you think it’s bohemian in your time.”

“So why are we there then?” Donna asked. “Looks pretty boring to me.”

As she spoke, a streak of lightning crashed down from the sky. There was a huge cracking sound, then the air tasted like licking a hot spoon. 

“Come on,” the Doctor grinned, setting off at a sprint.

It was a warm day, and by the time they made it over the hill and saw a small cottage in the middle of nowhere, Donna was sweating buckets. 

“Aziraphale!” the Doctor called, waved manically, then set off on a run down the hill. 

Well, that explained the TARDIS dragging them here. 

Something wasn’t right though. There was a strange glimmer around the cottage, and two people standing at the gate that made Donna’s skin crawl just to see the back of them. In the garden, Aziraphale was standing and behind him, on the ground, was Crowley. The demon was writhing about like he was in pain, cursing his head off. 

“Oi,” Donna yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The man at the gate turned around. He was bloody gorgeous, or he would have been if he didn’t look so dead behind the eyes. 

“Stay out of this, sweetheart,” he said, in an American drawl. “Nothing to see here.”

“Get rid of them,” the other person growled, turning around too. They had a weird looking hat on, like a giant bug or something, and their voice sounded like a swarm of wasps. 

Handsome raised his hand.

“No!” Aziraphale cried, at the same time the Doctor whipped out the sonic screwdriver and pointed it. A spark of electric shot from Handsome’s fingers, and he swore.

“Same frequency,” the Doctor muttered. “Watch his hands.”

“Oh, for Satan’s sake,” the other person buzzed. 

“They sound like that waspy bloke, Doctor,” Donna said under her breath. “Is it?”

“Nah. Don’t think so.”

“Who are you?” Handsome asked, taking a step towards them, flexing his fingers.

“Leave them alone, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, then Crowley groaned and the angel turned around. His hands fluttered over the demon but it didn’t look like he could touch him. 

“Oh, Gabriel,” the Doctor said. “As in archangel? Bit of an honour to meet you, I must say. Didn’t know you came down here much.”

Gabriel opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. His weird dead eyes ran up and over the Doctor, then he turned them on Donna. She eyeballed him right back. 

“I’ll ask you one more, time, sunshine,” Gabriel eventually said. “Who are you?”

“She’s a human,” the other person buzzed, jerking their head at Donna. “And look at him. He looks like Crowley. But - the ether doesn’t know what he is. Like he isn’t there. ”

“Oh that’s me,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “Never can find me apparently, that old ether. You need an upgrade.”

Behind them, Aziraphale was on his knees at Crowley’s side. Donna watched from the corner of her eye as he pressed one hand to Crowley’s mouth, then placed his other one on Crowley’s stomach. Whatever was going on back there, it seemed important. Crowley was convulsing, and Donna understood the hand over his mouth was to stop him screaming. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabriel snarled. “But this is none of your business. Get out of here before I make you regret the day you met this pair of freaks.”

“Ah now see, that’s where you’re wrong, Gabriel. This is our business. Why do you think I have this little thing tuned right into you? And why do you think I have these in my pockets?”

With one hand, the Doctor pulled out the little plastic water pistol that he always seemed to have on him for some reason, and handed it to Donna. 

“Keep that pointed at Buzzy,” he said. “That’s the last batch we have right now but there’s plenty there.”

Donna took the pistol and narrowed her eyes at the Doctor. He mouthed two words at her and she grinned. 

“Hands up, you,” she said. “Or you’ll get a taste of the holiest water this side of the Vatican.”

Buzz growled but did as they were told, as the Doctor fumbled in his other pocket and drew out a lighter. He had everything in those pockets. Donna usually took the piss about it, but right now, they were proving pretty handy. 

“As for you, Gabriel,” he said, flicking the lighter on and off. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to use this hellfire. Do you want to be my first guinea pig?”

Gabriel’s eyes flickered between the lighter and the sonic screwdriver held in the Doctor’s other hand, and he clenched his fists. 

“I’m warning you-”

“No, this is me warning you,” the Doctor said. “Get out of here now, both of you. You thought Aziraphale and Crowley could be here on Earth all this time and not make some friends?”

Behind the gate, Aziraphale seemed to have finished what he was doing. Crowley sat up slowly, and the angel snagged the front of his shirt and pressed their foreheads together. Donna wanted to grin, but she turned it into a tough face instead. Took them bloody long enough. 

“Bugger this,” Buzzy said suddenly. “You’re on your own, archangel.”

The ground shook and there was that same cracking sound from before, and they were gone. 

“Looks like your mate got the right idea,” Donna said, spinning the water pistol on her finger. “Why don’t you get lost too, huh?”

“What the heaven are you?” Gabriel asked, and then there was a movement behind him. Crowley was standing right there, within touching distance, brandishing a burning branch. 

“You don’t need to know,” the Doctor said casually, slipping the lighter back into his pocket. “But know this. This angel and this demon are protected. Let all your mates know, yeah?”

Gabriel spun wildly around, then fell backwards as Crowley swung the branch towards him. 

“Piss off, Gabriel,” the demon growled. “I’m not as merciful as this bloke. I won’t think twice.”

“I’ll get you in the end, Aziraphale,” Gabriel yelled, and he started to glow. “This won’t last forever!”

And he was gone, in another crack of lightning. 

“Afternoon,” Crowley said, grinning. “Bit close, that one.”

And then he keeled gently over, dropping his branch. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and emptied the bucket of water that had appeared over the flames. 

“Right,” he said, his voice a little bit shaky. “Would you care to join us for a cup of tea?”

**

The cottage was nice. Cosy, like cottages should be. 

Crowley snored gently on the sofa where Aziraphale had laid him. The angel had summoned up some tea and cake. Donna took over pouring it when he dropped the first cup. His hands hadn’t stopped shaking. He was turning them over and over now as he talked to the Doctor. 

“We have wards and protection set up around the cottage,” Aziraphale was saying. “But Crowley was outside of them when they ambushed him.”

“What was all that about when he was on the ground?” Donna asked, spooning six sugars into the Doctor’s cup. 

“Gabriel had him bound in something I’ve never seen before. I had to break it, but I knew it would hurt him to remove it. I believe the two of you quite saved our lives.”

“Ah, no problem,” the Doctor said. “Bit of sleight of hand, a few white lies. Can I look at your books?”

“Of course. Be my guest.”

The Doctor bounded over to the shelf in the corner and plonked himself down on the floor. 

“He’ll be there a while,” Donna said, sipping her tea. “So who were they then? Archangel Gabriel, yeah, but who was Buzzy?”

“That’s Lord Beezelbub, one of the Dukes of Hell. The two of them - well, I suppose they used to be our bosses. We retired, Crowley and I - oh, around thirty years ago now. They’re still not happy about it. As you can see.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I expect the Doctor has frightened them off for a while now. They’re very literal thinkers, no imagination to speak of. It will take them years to try and work out who the two of you are.”

“Not much of a life though, living in fear.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale said softly. “We’re used to it. And I must say, despite what you saw today - it has been very peaceful. Much more so than it ever was before.”

“So you and him.” Donna took a bite out of her cake, and wiggled her eyebrows. “Finally?”

Aziraphale blushed and looked down into his teacup. A smile twitched on his lips. 

“We got there in the end.”

“You’re telling me,” Crowley groaned, sitting up slowly. “Took us long enough.”

“Would you like some tea, my darling? You’ve had a bit of a shock.”

“Go on then,” Crowley said, then stepped around the sofa to where the Doctor was splayed on the floor, six books open in front of him. He glanced up when Crowley’s boots stopped in front of him.

“Hello. Expect you’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“Could say that,” Crowley nodded, then put out his hand. “Thank you. You saved our lives today.”

“No problem,” the Doctor said solemnly, and he reached up to meet him. They shook hands, and Crowley managed a quirk of his lips that was almost a smile. 

“So, retirement to the coast huh?” Donna asked, when he came to join them at the table. Aziraphale passed over a cup, and Crowley laced their fingers together. 

“Yep. Best thing we ever did. Right, angel?”

“Yes, my dear. The very best.”

“Domestic. I like it. Thought you two would never sort yourselves out. Could have powered a city with the pining.”

“You knew?” Aziraphale asked. “But you hardly know us well.”

“Didn’t need to,” Donna shrugged, swallowing her last bit of cake. “Human, aren’t I? Good at that sort of thing. No martians or angels or demons can hide things from me.”

“Not a martian,” the Doctor called.

“Read your books, spaceman, the grown ups are talking. So tell me everything,” she said. “I bet it’s one heck of a story!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a great time writing this. In fact, I enjoyed it so much I'm in danger of writing actual Doctor Who fic.
> 
> I hope y'all have enjoyed it too - I appreciate all the comments and kudos, as always :)


End file.
